


Dead Sleep

by Marystormshade



Series: Dragon Age Drabbles [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: ? - Freeform, Character Death, F/M, Fade, Happy Ending, Josephine - Freeform, Leliana - Freeform, Maybe - Freeform, Mentions of Cullen, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, and, but hey solas comes back, my vague wonder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2753444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marystormshade/pseuds/Marystormshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And in this place of dreams, she is young once more, and each flake of white whispers as it falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Sleep

The emergence into the fade is no less familiar than before, she still feels the pull at her navel, like a taught string guiding her as she peels into the consciousness that is and isn't.   
  
It's Skyhold, or at least she thinks that it is Skyhold.   
  
The stone is familiar and rough beneath the pads of her fingers, the courtyard overgrown with life and vines that slither every which way along the earth with flowers both large and small, light and dark. They make way for her as she walks. The steps leading to the Grand Hall audibly crumble beneath her barefeet and for a moment, she is worried that they will fall from under her, that the very mountain itself will tumble from existence. 

The Grand Hall is dark save for the light that peaks though the dust ridden windows, and she is reminded of her old title, of how she had judged those who had made the unwise decision of treachery against her. She remembers the celebrations and the dancing, as her and her companions danced with the pulsing of the crowd and shook with the music. And she aches as she passes it, the door that she knows she must go through, can feel pulling at her very being, the room with the murals and the stories and memories of  _him._

But first, she goes to the war room. And for just a moment she see's them, Cullen; bent and avid before inevitably stumbling over himself because she couldn't stop the teasing tone of her voice. The now - Divine, with her hood drawn and a slight smirk as she watches the play by play of the map. Josephine, dear Josephine, scribbling at her papers, the candle low to the table and nearing extinguishing as she proposes how best to deal with the newly unruly nobles.

And for a moment, she, Ellana Lavellan, is content. And then it's over, the room is empty, the stone table is split and unused. She walks back into the great hall and is unsurprised to see the door to the towers library is slightly ajar. She walks in cautiously, and gasps.

The room is lit to brilliance, as at least a hndred candles decorate the room, shining like the sky. But that is not what she is seeing. For not a single inch of the walls and floor are blank. There is the mural, as it was then, the tale of the Inquisitor, still as crisp as the day it had been painted. But there is more, so much more.

Extending far and wide are the images of her life; there, in green and blues as she is anointed, finally, as Keeper Lavellan, bleeding into an image of a young Elven man, bending in reverance as he stretches a flower into her waiting hands, and oh, her children, small and wild as they rush through the underbrush of the forest and into her arms. The newly planted sapling of her love as she stands straight backed, her children now grown, stand by her side with bundles of life in their arms. And so many more, in between and over and under. And above it all, looking down from the ceiling like a guardian, is a great beast, eyes large and watching with teeth, just slightly peering from lips. 

"Na hellathen."

It is said so gently and with such sweetness that she is almost sure she hadn't hear it. She turns slowly, knowing that she cannot possibly prepare herself for what she will see, and she is right. 

It is  _him_ , no different than the day she first and last saw him. He is so close, yet she fears that if she were to reach out that he would cease to exist. She does anyway. And when he meets her halfway, brings her hand to his mouth and kisses, she feels her eyes burn, her chest ache and her legs shake. She falls to her knees and he is there to capture her in his arms, not pressing or pushing her, simply using himself as a reassuring weight. 

"Emma lath." He whispers into her hair, lips just brushing her scalp. And she cannot help the sobs that escape as she shakes beneath him, face pressed so firmly into his shoulder, the crook of his neck, that you might think she is trying to be absorbed by him, to never leave his side again, to simply become one. You would be right.

And without looking she knows that they are no longer in the mural room, no longer in Skyhold even. Wind ships at her hair and the cloth of her trousers is soaked through. She peels from him and looks into the flurry that falls from a sky that she cannot discern. They are atop a mountain that she does not recognize, and though they are deep in snow, she feels nothing but a cool breeze.   
  
"Solas?" She asks, and she feels so small in this vast place that she fears she'll be swallowed up. Solas watches her as well, and his hands still cradle her, as though he too fears her evaporation.

"Setheneran, a place in between." He says, though she hasn't really asked. 

"Why am I here, and why are you here?" She asks, pulling from him, both reluctant and angered. He smiles grimly in reply.

"Is it not the duty of Fen'Harel to hunt the steps of souls lost on the path to death."

She feels her fear creep up again, not of him, no never of him, but of his words. "So the time has finally come?" She says, more to the wind and sky than anything. He reaches towards her and pulls her into him.

"Ir abelas, ma vhenan." 

And she had no time to grieve for whatever life she had, for he stood and brought her with him. His lips pressed against hers, gently, almost in apology. She tasted salt and realized that she had began to cry. She ceased though and took the opportunity that had long been denied her, as she surged forward, taking his head in her hands in a searing kiss that cried against the very nature of his apology, that demanded and gorged and took. 

And in that moment, in that place, she was young again, and every flake of snow that fell whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Na hellathen - [Your] Noble struggle
> 
> Emma Lath - My love
> 
> Setheneran - Land of waking dreams. A place where the Veil is thin. Literally: "Tenuous waking dream place"
> 
> Ir abelas, ma vhenan - I am filled with sorrow for your loss, my heart.


End file.
